


Dust to Dust

by lizdarcy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drabble, Implied Character Death, M/M, ghost!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizdarcy/pseuds/lizdarcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It feels like breathing, like </i>living<i>. The trees turn into blurs, turn into whispers of old friends. And then the world is scents and instincts and paws over snow. It’s easy again.</i></p>
<p> <i>When he hears the chuckle dance through the air, he almost runs into a tree. </i></p>
<p>Derek learns how to live without Stiles, until he doesn't have to anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [AU: Stiles died](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15549) by Ninakask. 



> Inspired by the beautiful artwork of Ninakask on Tumblr.

* * *

For a while, Derek isn’t sure he’d be able to shift again. Not after… after. Isaac calls them his “dark days.” There is something about the way the trees smell, the way sun smells that makes him think of… that makes him think. He doesn’t want to understand it, and he can’t bear it, so he stops shifting. 

He starts spending Sundays at the Sheriff’s house. At first, he does it because no one else does. Scott leaves, goes omega. Melissa goes to LA to help her mother move into her new house and just… doesn’t come back. Derek waits for someone to come, extended family, nieces, nephews… anyone. But no one does. 

So night after night, he sits outside and listens to the hoarse, wretched sobs come from the kitchen table. He just sits and soaks in the anguish, because he can’t feel it himself. He doesn’t cry, because there is nothing inside him left to fall out. But then one morning, the sheriff finds him still sitting against the side of the house, arms wrapped around his knees. He gives Derek a look then walks back into the house. Derek makes him blueberry pancakes that morning. 

They don’t talk. Haven’t once had a conversation since… since before.

Derek hasn’t said his name since. 

The pack falls into disarray, but no matter how they cry and howl for their alpha, he doesn’t go. Unless it’s a Sunday, he spends most of his time in his house, thinking about ashes to ashes and dust to dust. How much his mother had hated dust. How much he hates knowing her ashes still lay in the basement. How he can’t stand that almost-there smell of family, of _him_ but can’t bear to be anywhere else, either. 

It’s Lydia that takes care of his pack for him. Funny, how easily she took to the role of Alpha. _He_ would’ve found it funny.

It’s actually not funny at all.

The tiny part of him that wishes he could feel thanks her for it. He no longer needs to think about how he should miss them, or wonder why he can’t.

He’s not sure how much time passes. He just knows it does. They say it’ll get easier, but he’s not sure he wants it to. 

He shows up at the sheriff’s one Sunday. He thinks it might be November, but he doesn’t bother to check. He knocks on the door and the sheriff opens it, but leaves the screen door hatched. 

“You can’t come here anymore, Derek,” the man says. His voice is gentle, not sad. Just resigned. “I’m an old man with nothing left. You’ve lost a lot. But you’ve got something left. You can’t come here anymore.”  
Derek looks at him and nods. Turns and leaves. 

Turns and runs. 

It feels like breathing, like _living_. The trees turn into blurs, turn into whispers of old friends. And then the world is scents and instincts and paws over snow. It’s easy again.

When he hears the chuckle dance through the air, he almost runs into a tree. 

He whips around, red eyes glaring in every direction, nose grasping for just a hint of a scent, but there’s nothing. Only the glaring mute of a snowy wood. Every single snowflake rings in his ear as his listens. He heard _him_ , he knows he had.

Hours pass as he frantically searches the woods, to no avail. When he walks into the train station, it’s empty and he almost panics. But then he reaches and can feel them, his pack. He’s almost startled by it. They’re still his pack. He can still feel them. He hasn’t tried in so long, he forgot he could. Maybe he assumed they would’ve given up on him. But they haven’t. 

When Derek falls asleep, Isaac’s hand is gripping his shirt so hard that he wakes up to bloody claw marks across it. 

Things do get better. It’s like he’s defrosting, thawing out, like the woods in spring. Months go by. Scott doesn’t come back, but Allison sends them a post card from Maine. Derek tears down the house. He doesn’t build a new one, not yet. 

It’s New Year’s Eve. Lydia doesn’t throw her usual rager, instead just has the pack in her living room with a single bottle of champagne and the countdown on the television. Everyone is curled up, touching some part of the person closest, like if they have some sort of contact, they won’t be able to disappear. Derek slips out sometime after two, wanting his woods. His old friends.

He lets the shift flow through him, no longer scared of the scent of evergreens and muddy leaves. He embraces it instead. It’s something to be cherished, and he was a fool to go so long without it. 

That’s when he sees the flash of red fifty yards up. He heart begins to race, but he doesn’t run. He doesn’t shift back.

When he gets to the tree, he just stares, unblinking. He thinks maybe they can both hear the sound of only one heart beating.

“It took you long enough, Sourwolf.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Criticisms always welcome! Lizdarcy on tumblr.


End file.
